True Grit

In September of last year, as the lease on our first place was about to expire, Jo and I began to consider a move.  The rent was high and increasing at the apartment complex we had shared our first year at, and as we began to look around and consider our options and stage of life - we started to think living downtown would be a fun experiment.  You can read more about our first-hand experience here.


After all, we didn't have any kids!  It was just us - and we could afford to live a risky, grittier life - right?  Famous last words!

Lately, I've been thinking more about the idea of "gritty" living.  Linked with a loss of control (read here for more on that), I'm meaning things we've all experienced - but 'a particular attraction to' weeds, dust, cracked pavement, tilting foundations, artificially faded and tinted photos, independent films like Once, guitars with 'play-holes' in them, simple bands like Sigur Rós, used furniture, clouds, rain, hand-me-down scarves, designer jeans meant to look 20 years old and bicycles that really are.


Though I've never observed it before, the season of Lent has lent (couldn't help that one) itself to a certain growing connection in my mind.  I've realized that the world around me, downtown specifically, was growing in it's decay.  A strong word, but I mean come on people - I'm from the suburbs!  I'm used to manicured lawns, cookie cutter houses, immediate fixes to cracked drywall, following the cookie cutter style around me, and obsession with the newest and latest.  Now instead of seeing this 'particular attraction to' gritty living as a cultural phenomenon or generational trend, I've begun to see it from a more distinct perspective.


Observing Lent helps us to remember our finiteness.  We give up something in order to be reminded of our place in the cosmos, and to become more reliant on Christ.  Just the way each of us sometimes fills the heart-need to worship with something foreign and ill-fitting besides God, so I see this grit 'attraction.'  Although humanity as a whole is bent on dominion and exploitation, it would seem there is also something deep in us that wants to be finite, limited and out of control.


This grit-love points us towards the limitations of our world, the curse it is under, and the redemption that has already begun in the hearts of Christ's followers.  See it that way, from the side of eventual complete redemption and rebirth, and you begin to appreciate the beauty of a decrepit and failing system that points in every way toward a God who will make all things new again.


Although Jo and I love the vibe of downtown, the dust of lead paint chips around our windowsill is still cause for alarm and will quite likely push us out of our current abode with a newborn child!  I'm not about to go plant weeds and would still love a new bike.  Though I'll still plan on doing my part to bring order to things, I'm choosing to embrace the grit of life, to proclaim the truth of decay, and to celebrate the ruin of our present reality.  For each ruin will only stand to shape our understanding of the victory that has already begun!


And yes, I listened to Sigur Rós and Hammock while writing this blog.

It has come to this:

I have arrived.

That is, I've come to the place of being quite frustrated with my own attempts at being pithy, tart and smart.  Working towards an exposition of various ideas have recently left me in the lurch of of my own exceedingly high expectations!  Curses and thwartations!

Thwart-a-tions /thwahrt-A-shuhns/ - noun
1.  a terrific annoyance or disappointment
2.  an occurrence or situation bereft of success
    "Due to unending thwartations, his plans were utterly foiled."

Ever have that happen?  Word just cease to flow, and you end up babbling on about something or other - In conversation perhaps?  Someone you would have no doubt liked to impress with your whit and charm and instead you "open mouth, insert foot"?  No, I'm not really describing a recent or even real situation.  Though I've been there, no specific memory comes to mind worth the retelling here.

And at just a moment when I needed to be quite eloquent about something in particular (though I'm not sure what) in order to have the faintest impression that my own time was invested and not squandered as I work on this vague and tenuous practice of writing - nothing really comes to mind.  *sigh.

And yet somehow, the very completion of this brief and rather upsetting blog has left me with at least a small satisfaction at completing something!  Yet on the one hand, I can breathe deeply and know the seeming unending writers block has released me if only for an instant - long enough to compose something with perhaps an iota of potential at making someone somewhere pause with a wry smirk of delight.

Did it work?

Lecture from Professor Emeritus, Dr. George Tumnus III

Our cat George is precocious, demanding and incorrigible.

George moved in with Jo and I (although he pays no rent whatsoever!) about a year ago after living with Joanna's sister Jodie for about a year before that.  Prior to this, his story is a little less clear.  It's possible he lived as a frat house mascot, spent time as a model for Cats & Kittens Magazine, or perhaps starred in a super-hero show on ABC about an unlikely and generally mild-mannered feline house pet.  One thing we know for sure however, that a family locked him up in a shed (we discovered this later through craigslist) and after his escape he came to the sliding door of my parents home in the summer of 2009, pawing to come in.

And in he came, first to our home, and quickly into our hearts.

Still he's ruthless, intimidating, destructive and ... wonderful.  Truly, he is the Marley and Me of cats.  Although at times he's completely infuriating, other times he redeems it all through a sweet cry and rub against our leg.  Even though he eats any flowers I buy for Jo, his incessant purring and sighs upon our lap confirms the truth of the whole debacle: as much as he loves and needs us, we're equally bound to him.  Turns out he's a bit of an instructor as well.

Just yesterday I was up at 6, experimenting with a return to early mornings spent reading the word and praying for our family, the baby, all that is coming I can't see, and trying to align myself to a Source that is sufficient for the stress of a day on earth.  Noble intentions - utterly confounded as George followed me from the bed and began his regular routine of ripping up carpet, sharpening his claws on the furniture, and tap-tapping things off the coffee table and hutch.  Jo can tell you, I was so frustrated at the interruption that pens were flying his direction (though missing) and my hissing vilification of him was enough to wake her roughly 14 minutes before regularly scheduled.

It turns out he is quite the teacher indeed.

You could say I shouldn't have let it get to me, or that it's an exercise in controlling my temper.  I know because in the moment I thought that too - taking deep breaths, trying to bend time like Neo from the Matrix, and who knows what else - to no avail.  Twenty four hours later, I can mostly chalk it up to a loss of control, as humbling as that is.  You know what I'm talking about, it's that part of you that longs for order and sanctuary like a Buddhist in his rock garden, sipping tea and smelling the wind... and reaching over to trim his bonsai tree every two years.  Now really, is that so wrong?

Reality is, I've never been to a rock garden.  I don't even have one of those little sand-things on my desk!  Jo and I get ready in the rush of a single bathroom, drive to work in traffic, and bust our behinds all day long.  When 5pm rolls around, we're lucky to have enough left over for a trip to the gym and dinner before our eyes involuntarily slide shut around 9:30.  Sound familiar?

And yet, we're called to an existence of waiting patiently for the things that are to come.  Not only are we not in control, but the earth itself is moving toward a new beginning, "as in the pains of childbirth."  There is some of that in us too - a something that sees life as we know it as not quite right, that longs for things to be made perfect.  God put that in us, but it's all too easy to let it work itself out in an unspoken standard of perfection in the here and now.  We long for a easy commute, delicious meals each night, clothes that clean and fold themselves, cars that never break down, simple fixes, quick solutions... and even amiable, languid cats.

But we're not promised that life here; it may not come for another 10,000 years.  In the meantime, I find some encouragement that each of these "hardships" points us in a way to a time when the longing in us and all of creation will be fulfilled.  Even then however, it won't be our own control that takes over - thank heaven!

So Dr. George, thanks for the lesson.  I'll see you in the morning.

House on a Mountain

I love Ingrid Michaelson's song "You and I."

I'm a sucker for simple melodies, unassuming vocals, clever lyric, and duets that remind me of Jo and I.  That's the beauty of a universal love song I suppose, just about anyone could think it's been written for them.  Over the last few weeks though, Jo and I began to have a special attachment to this song as we quite nearly bought a "house on a mountain, making everybody look like ants..."  When I say nearly, I mean to say that we were under contract, and even paid the $400 for an inspection.

(darling)

I've never even come close to buying a home before, so this was quite a leap.  We found it on our own, driving around one day - that to say, we weren't really in the market or looking.  It was a quaint cottage nestled on a corner lot up the hill in Palmer Lake, and when I call it cozy, I mean it - 560 square feet of cozy.  It was the cheapest home in the neighborhood, and in truly great condition for a home built in 64'.  Looking into the sky on a third of an acre, with a steal of an asking price, killer interest rate, great broker, lender and even seller - everything seemed too good to be true...  In a way.

I have to admit, there's something in a respectable man (something I hope I'm becoming more of) that starts clicking into place when he gets married, and then rolls into high gear when he is becoming a Father.  It's this weird, protective, providing instinct that begins to take over his waking mind.  There began to be something in me that wanted this place for its privacy, security and dependability.  There was another piece that swelled in my to keep up with the Jones', get started on an investment of some sort, and find a place to 'tend' - to grow and develop by the sweat of my brow.  All the while, I was asking God for direction, for any hint as to what we should do.  Surly he has the corner market on what makes a good decision - looking at time from outside it and being omniscient and all...  But although I prayed, opened myself to hearing his voice, and tried to hold any idea loosely, I got nothing.

A test of faith if you will.

But, all of my instinct about the affair began to blind me to a truth, lurking in the back of my mind.  I had tried to ignore it, thought of ways around it, but still it remained: We couldn't afford to buy the house.

That's a fairly straightforward thing to say to the whole world on your blog, but there it is.  Let me add a caveat: we could have made it happen... maybe.  And this is where I was, yesterday even.  But then, yesterday afternoon we brought my parents into the equation and took them to see it; beautiful view, white trim, quaint town and all.  Gravel crunched under the tires on the dirt roads, and the trees swayed in the breeze as a bite in the air suggested adventure.  They loved it too.

Afterward, at coffee I laid out the logic for buying, and the logic for not buying.  I so appreciated the way my folks talked it out with us.  They didn't say much; they didn't need to.  Jo and I had already considered all the sides, all the possibilities.  Yes, it could have worked, in a very "tighten-your-belt-for-the-next-15-years-and-hope-disaster-doesn't-strike" kind of way... with a few mythical raises, second jobs, and "counted-on gifts" from family, we could have narrowly squeaked by.  But it ended up that God spoke indeed - through wisdom, and through his body.

CS Lewis said that "above all, [God] works on us through each other."  Proverbs 24:6 says it a different way: "Surely you need guidance to wage war, victory is won through many advisers."  There came a time in this debacle that I wanted to just hear from God himself; in the din of opinion it seemed people either widely encouraged us or discouraged us.  Ultimately though God worked through my parents who left us to our decision and supported us along the way.

So Dave Ramsey - eat your heart out.  We've re-arrived at the place of paying off debt, saving for a little addition called "Peanut," and being faithful with what we have and where we are.  In Ingrid's words, what we ended up finding is that we're a little closer to the "don't you worry there my honey, we may not have any money, but we've got our love to pay the bills..."

And I've discovered that's not a bad place to be at all.